Reunion
by Naryfiel Lilith
Summary: In the aftermath of battle, Cullen meets someone he never thought to see again. Set Post-DA2, Pre-Inquisition.


The battle had ripped the town into pieces. The wooden buildings were crumpled and twisted into splinters. The roads were churned into bloody mud too thick to run a wagon through. The wells had been rendered undrinkable by large amounts of blood, dirt, and rubble. The crops had been trampled into unyielding dirt. The livestock slaughtered indiscriminately. And then… then there were the bodies. Long stretches of corpses that seemed to go on forever. Perhaps they did. He certainly thought so as he added yet another body to the line. A small child, perhaps not even five years old, slain by a templar's arrow because a mage _happened_ to race behind. The body next to the child was a baby, caught by a mage's flames when they'd retaliated.

Templars and mages had fought again. But _they_ hadn't been the ones who paid the price of their uncaring zealousness. It had been the people whose homes had served at their battleground. It was almost enough to make him wonder just why he'd believed so firmly in the Order to start with. But of course, he remembered. He'd wanted to believe. He'd started off with believing mages and templars could work together, only for that to shatter when the Tower fell to Uldred. So many days trapped by demons and blood magic had left him with a horrible distrust of mages. It was an attitude that served him well when he transferred to Kirkwall. Knight Commander Meredith had seemed ideal then, firm and fair. But she eventually turned to madness, just like Uldred did, and her actions sparked the Templar-Mage War that destroyed so many dreams.

"Mister?" He turned to the small girl at his side, and blinked slowly at her. He vaguely remembered her. She was the sister of one of the victims here, and covered in badly wrapped, stained bandages. His hands twitched to fix them, but bandaging had never been a specialty of his. That was one of the reasons _why_ he'd volunteered to lead a small team and dig through the rumble and bring out the bodies. "Hey!"

"Oh, sorry." His voice shook with exhaustion. He wasn't too surprised. He'd been working for… well, however long it had been. He still wasn't done, though. He and his team had, maybe, made their way through half of the destroyed town. The thought that the unending line of bodies was possibly only a mere fraction of the total dead was disconcerting, at best. "I was lost in thought, child."

"Yeah, I can tell." She tugged his sweat-stained, sleeve and pressed a small bundle into his hand. He glanced down and saw it was a torn piece of barley bread. "They're making a stew for everyone, but the elders figured you lot would need a bit of extra energy." She grinned, revealing missing teeth, and he wondered if she'd be smiling if she knew he'd once been a templar like the ones who destroyed the place. "They also said you should take a break. Anyone who isn't dead now was protected by the Maker, and he won't suddenly take it away, right?" He'd heard words like that before. Greagoir had told him the Maker himself must've protected him, back when the Tower fell. To this day, he wondered if it have been _protection_ to make him live forever with the scars that ached even now, the fears that lingered and hovered as he tried to sleep. "Mister?"

"Lost in thoughts again." He managed a wry smile, and it sparked a laugh from the girl. He tried to think of a name, but couldn't find one. Had he asked _anyone_ in this town their name before he helped? He didn't think so. He'd been in too much shock over what happened, and the survivors had been too grateful for _someone_ taking over that they didn't ask questions. Was this how Serah Hawke had ended up in so many messes over the years? It had never seemed that way to him at the time, but perhaps it was. "Maybe I should take that rest."

"Yes, you should!" The girl pointed to where the survivors were gathering in the remains of the town square. "Go there. And eat your bread."

"All right." He patted her on the head, making her giggle a bit, and made his slow way over. The scent of spices and meat quickly assaulted him, but a day of handling corpses had left him with no appetite. If anything, his stomach turned at the smells. But he masked the discomfort with great care and ease. One didn't survive as a Knight-Captain in Kirkwall without knowing how to hide how you felt. Anything else would be taken as weakness by templars and mages alike.

As he mingled through the group, he noticed others of his 'team' had made their way here too. Strong men and woman all willing to do what was necessary, even as their tears streamed down their faces and bloodied their mouths to keep from screaming when they recognized the mangle bodies they recovered. He patted them on the back and shoulders as he slowly ate the piece of bread gifted to him. They gave him wan smiles in return, and offered him a seat among them as they waited for the communal dinner to be ready. He took it, of course. He didn't have a place to go.

"A couple of other outsiders pitched in to help," one of them commented, a burly man who'd run the tavern when the town was whole who'd lost his wife and youngest child to a mage's spell and a templar's sword. "One of them was a pretty little lady. Seemed far from home, but knew of an untouched stream nearby. Fresh water has never tasted so good." There were murmurs of agreement all around; he added his own a split-second after the others'. "I think she's over there now, helping with the cooking." While the others tried to sneak a look at the water bringer, he just focused on eating the bread that felt like mush in his mouth and metal in his stomach. It didn't seem to matter to him.

At least, it didn't until his ear caught a distinct accent. The deep, rich Fereldan was something he hadn't expected to hear. His own accent was faded now, dulled by years in the Free Marches, so it was nice to hear the sound of what was once his home after so long. He glanced up as the voice got closer, curious as to why a Fereldan would be here, of all places. It was a _long_ way across the sea.

The first thing he saw was short crimson hair. It was a vivid color, not unlike fresh blood, and startling to see among the duller browns and blacks of the villagers. The second and third things he noticed were the simple pink dress and the freckled skin. When the woman turned, though, he noticed the fourth thing and he could only gape, last bit of bread slipping through suddenly numb fingers. He knew that face. He knew that face well. He'd seen in so many times in his dreams, and nightmares, in the past. "A…" His voice was a croak, and he coughed to clear it. "Amell…?" He called her by her last name, of course. That was how things were in the Fereldan Tower. Mages who had last names were called only that by the templars, as a means of keeping distance. Even now, he couldn't remember her first name. Perhaps, just like with the villagers here, he'd never thought to ask.

She stilled at the name, of course, before looking around wildly. Why wouldn't she? She likely hadn't given her _last_ name to anyone here, if she gave a name at all. That said, he hadn't really expected her to freeze when she saw him. He wondered how he looked to her. Older, he hoped. He hoped he didn't look like the boy who stuttered whenever he said hello, or the screaming mess the demons' torture had made him. At the same time, though, he hoped he didn't look like the stern templar he'd been. He just… wanted to be for a while.

"Cullen?" she finally whispered, eyes still on him and him alone. The word trembled hesitantly, like she wasn't sure how she'd be received. "Is that…?"

"Yeah." He noticed that the survivors were all whispering to each other. He was almost afraid they'd, somehow, connected his name to the Order, but the smiles made him think otherwise. He wished he could decipher them, though. They held hidden warmth, and he could dearly use the laugh. "Long time no see." He hadn't seen her since he transferred to Kirkwall after the Hero of Fereldan slew the Archdemon.

"You too." She smiled at him. It was warm and bright, like the sun. He couldn't decide if it soothed or burned. Perhaps it did both. "Do… do you live here?"

"No, I just stumbled on it while traveling."

"Oh, so we're the same." For some reason, the words made something in his chest ache, and the smile on her face grow. "That's good." Was it? He wasn't sure anymore. "I'm glad." Was he? He was too tired to process anything. "Can we talk later? Catch up?"

"Sure." And he couldn't decide if he wanted to thank his treacherous mouth for agreeing so quickly, or curse it. But she laughed, obviously delighted, and turned back to her conversation before, apologizing for the interruption. He decided to just look at the sky, studying the clouds and ignoring everyone until someone pressed a small bowl of stew into his hands.

After he finished, though, there was more work to be done. Setting his bowl to the side, he went to the line of bodies again. This time, though, he was carrying them to what remained of the Chantry. He'd volunteered for this too. Someone had to, after all. There were just too many dead for someone to not help out the families ready their loved ones for the burnings. Long stretches of time devoted to finding wood, building the pyres, for each corpse. It was decided, after bits of staring in the distance and broken conversation, to use the broken houses for material instead of hunting for something in the woods. There was something… right about sending them off with pieces of their homes. Plus, it helped clear the area, to give space for rebuilding. That was assuming, of course, that the people here wouldn't just move to one of the bigger cities, joining the long trains of refugees that scattered the area.

As the bodies slowly turned to ash and the smell of burning meat choked the air, he stood with the survivors and whispered prayers to go along with the singing and chanting of the Chantry Sisters, blessing the dead as they made it to the Maker's side. He hoped that they arrived safely. There were many dead, after all.

"Cullen?" He turned to the voice and nodded as Amell made her way to his side. "Are you able to talk now?" she asked him softly. He glanced around and saw the crowd dispersing. The pyres were still burning, of course, but the service was over. "I'd like to, if you're able."

"I think so," he answered after a moment. It was growing dark, so he couldn't return to recovering bodies. There was the issue of where he'd sleep for the night, but he honestly didn't mind sleeping under the stars. Most of the villagers were. "Are you done with your duties?" Duties, as if this wasn't something she'd volunteered for. Duties, as if she was a simple apprentice back in Fereldan's Tower and he was a newly knighted Templar with a pathetic crush. Not… not whatever they were now.

"Yeah." She smiled gently, fondly. "I gathered water, and helped tend to the fires so that they could be used for breakfast in the morning. My shift for child watching isn't for a bit."

"You took a shift?"

"You know how I used to watch the younger apprentices in the Tower." He did. He'd often been the templar on duty when she was. That was how they met, actually. "I figured it wouldn't be that different, lack of magic aside." She kept her voice quiet, glancing to make sure no one eavesdropped. Like him, she hid her past. He thought it smart. There was no telling what they'd do to a mage in these circumstances. "Walk with me?"

"All right." He followed her as they left the area, meandering the outskirts of the ruined village. They walked in silence, and he was careful to stand both apart and behind. Nothing to suggest intimacy, yet the perfect place to study her. He noticed how the freckles he was used to seeing only on her face had spread to her shoulders, arms, and neck. He noticed how her hair was longer than it had been in the Tower. He noticed the confident way she held herself, even as she checked to make sure no one was following or listening in.

"You never could stand beside me," she whispered after a while. He didn't reply, just stopped as she turned to face him. Her smile was warm, her stance open, but her eyes were wistful and sad. "Even at the Tower, you never did. A bit behind, a bit ahead, always a set distance apart. Though, I have to say, this is a more welcoming response than the last time I suggested we spend time together." It took him a minute to recall what she was talking about, but when he did, he felt himself flush bright red. That had been… "You ran fast that day! I tried going after you to apologize for making you uncomfortable, but you were gone before I turned the corner!"

"They don't make you a templar until you can run every floor in full armor in under a minute," he responded, glancing up at the sky to avoid looking at her. The stars were strangely beautiful above. He almost wanted to call them diamonds stuck in the sky, because they glittering so brightly. He wondered if they were trying to cheer the people left behind.

"Really?" She sounded so surprised, and he could imagine how she looked. Wide eyes and open mouthed.

"Of course not." He heard a low grumble and found himself grinning. "But it's a useful skill to have."

"I suppose. Templars have to react fast to threats."

"Real or imagined." There was silence after that. "Not that it mattered, in the end."

"Are you all right?" He brought his gaze back to her and saw the concern in her face. She tried to step closer to him, but he took a step back to keep the safe distance. He thought some hurt came through the worry, but he wasn't sure. He never _was_ sure around her. "You were in Kirkwall when…"

"When Meredith went insane, turned to a magical artifact to attack the Champion, and melted herself into a statue." He kept the words even and mechanical. He'd had to report what had happened so many times, he was almost numb to everything about it. "Just as I was in the Tower until the Hero of Fereldan saved it." He smiled wryly; she winced. "I always seem to be witness to the worse in factions." This time, she was the one who looked away, to the gray-green grass they stood on. "And you?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you well?"

She waited before answering. "I've… been better, I think." Her voice was soft and he had to strain to hear it over the sudden gust of wind. "So many things happened so quickly. Hearing about Kirkwall, everyone cracking down, the rebellion in Orlais, Wynne dying, the Circle dissolved… none of it seemed real. But it was, and some templars began hunting us all down as 'apostates', so I've been on the run since." She glanced at him, face neutral. "You… don't seem to be doing that, though. Hunting mages."

"I wish I'd captured the lot that did this." He gestured to the village. He could just make out the smoke in the twilight. "And the templars they fought. But I got here too late to do anything but clean up."

"They were grateful for that." She faced him fully, a soft smile back on her face. "The elders told me. They hadn't even known what to do, but then a handsome lad in armor offered to help them."

"I don't think I'm young enough for 'lad'."

"They called me 'lass' the whole time. It was so weird!" She laughed and he found himself laughing with her. "Why are you wandering?"

"I just…" He tried to figure out what to say. "I needed to get out of Kirkwall for a bit. Just a bit, mind. There's still a lot of rebuilding to do, order to set."

"You're going to return?" She sounded a bit surprised. "Don't you hate it there?"

"I didn't want to run again." He was surprised at how firm the words were. "I couldn't handle the Tower, but I've grown since then. I can handle Kirkwall, and they need all the help they can get."

"Yeah, you have." Her smile was wistful now. This time, when she took a step closer, he didn't back away. Her eyes shined in warmth. "Do you… do you still have nightmares?"

"Yes." All warmth disappeared instantly, replaced with horrible guilt and heavy sadness. "I just grew used to them, and others joined them." He studied her again. "Don't you get nightmares from everything?"

"Just a few," she whispered. Her gaze turned to the ground again, and she was hunched over as if to protect herself. "…Cullen?"

"Yes?"

"What would you do if I asked to go with you to Kirkwall?" Of all the things she could've said, could've asked, that was _nowhere near_ what he expected. "W-well?" He didn't reply. His mind swirled. His body tensed. Nothing seemed to want to work the way he wanted them to. Assuming, of course, he even knew what he wanted to do or say. She still had _that_ affect on him. "Say something?"

"I…" he croaked. He coughed to clear it. "Well…" She glanced at him timidly, eyes burning with hope. "Um…"

"I'm not a mage of the Circle." Her voice was firm, if quiet. "And you're… you're not a templar of the Order." He couldn't deny that. "So, we're just… just two people now, right?"

"With lots of baggage." Of course, his voice shook _now_. He looked away instinctively, as if he could hide it.

"Can yours go with mine?" He glanced back and she was suddenly right there in front of him. Close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the warmth of her body, to see the shine in her eyes. "Cullen? Can we try?" He didn't know how to answer, and he closed his eyes. Recited versus of the chant in his head, just as he did when he was trapped in the Tower, when the demon tried to tempt him with what he'd wanted more than anything. Her at his side, with no one condemning them for their choices, for their births.

But the demon's illusions never did manage to replicate the warmth of her hand on his face.

He opened his eyes slowly, and she's still right there, still touching him, still staring at him with burning hope and shaking hesitancy. So, he answered her non-verbally. He picked her up and hug her to him, forehead pressed to her face, but eyes closed to focus better on the _warmth_. His eyes and ears could deceive him. He learned that so many times. But touch and warmth… they never did.

"Is this a 'yes'?" she whispered. Her breath ghosted his face as she wrapped an arm around his neck for stability. He felt her soft, relieved smile as she tugged him just a little closer. "I hope so."

"Yeah," he answered. His voice shook again, but he couldn't help but smile anyway. "Yeah, come with me. Let's try." Try to fix things. Try to heal the damage done ages ago. Try to move on with the scars. "Together."

"Thank you." And there was nothing more to be said.


End file.
